


sometimes I feel like I can't run, I can't crawl

by daltonacademyfightclub



Category: Professional Wrestling, World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Community: wrestlingkink, Cuddling & Snuggling, Gen, Platonic Cuddling, injured!Seth, softie!Trips, used to sharing her husband with his buddies!Stephanie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-24
Updated: 2015-11-24
Packaged: 2018-05-03 04:15:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5276228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daltonacademyfightclub/pseuds/daltonacademyfightclub
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt:</p><p>Seth strikes me as someone who is a cuddler and I have always thought that Triple H has a huge soft side. I want to see something with them cuddling each other.<br/>They fall asleep together: While The Authority is flying somewhere, on a sofa, in the hotel.<br/>Seth is upset or scared about something. Or Triple H is upset.<br/>However it happens. And Stephanie/J&J/Kane, or someone else if you want, finds them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	sometimes I feel like I can't run, I can't crawl

Seth was tired. Sick and tired and weak and despite what the doctors had said about his surgery being a grand success (and, really, what constituted “grand” when his livelihood was on the line?) he felt more miserable than he had right after he was taken backstage post-match, post-botch.

 _Champions don’t botch spots,_ he thought to himself, letting the negative thoughts take over while he was on bedrest and had time to stew. It was true, after all - champions _didn’t_ do stuff like this, certainly not of this caliber, and that’s what made them great. Great spots translated into great matches translated into great pops which translated in unanimous backstage decisions to have Seth Rollins be the World Heavyweight Champion at Wrestlemania, being the first Mr. Money in the Bank to do so in history. He’d made history, dammit, now twice over with the dual singles titles back when he did the damn thing at Summerslam.

He knew history would remember him, but the fans were fickle. Seth was one of many stars, as Hunter had reminded him anytime he’d dared to step too far out of line and especially so when Brock Lesnar came back to personally hand him his ass at Battleground back in July. There was a large enough active roster to replace Seth easily, and with what he had heard from the dirtsheets and snippets from the handlers checking on him left and right, there was going to be a fucking _tournament_ to determine who was going to hold the title next.

A tournament, with brackets and everything. Where were all these potential champions when Ambrose was trailing him like a dog without a bone for half the year?

He winced when he turned instinctively to adjust his posture, pain shooting up his leg all the way to his hip. The doctors had told him that pain like that was expected, since everything was connected (well, connected _again_ ) and all. “Just move your leg as much as you can, Mr. Rollins,” the lead surgeon had instructed him when he came in to tell Seth his post-surgery report. “Maybe have it a little bent at all times to keep that range of motion fresh.”

“Fresh, right,” he’d nodded, and was trying to do just that when he heard a knock on the hospital room door. _Must be lunch,_ he thought. Good. He was starving.

“It’s me,” came a gruff voice from the other side that was decidedly not a nurse with a food tray. “Came by to check and see how my champ was doing.”

Hunter Hearst Helmsley came in the way he always carried himself, confidently and with a swagger that seemed to command the room to his will upon entry. Normally, seeing his boss and one of his childhood idols would have made Seth feel even the slightest bit at ease - after all, Hunter did usually have his best interests at heart - but all it did at the moment was piss him off further.

“Don’t call me that, Hunter,” Seth heard himself say petulantly, turning his head to lift his bed to a more obvious sitting position.

“Nonsense, Seth,” Hunter dismissed him, pulling a plastic chair from where one was propped up against the wall to sit on Seth’s right side. “You’re still a champion, no matter what happened at that show.”

“Then give me my belt back,” Seth said angrily, apparently preferring to be a child in that moment than the consummate professional he tried to be most of the time.

Hunter just chuckled. “Everyone and their mother knows we can’t do _that_ , Seth,” he replied, smiling and shaking his head. “What are we going to do? Get you to defend the title in Zeb Coulter’s scooter?”

Seth couldn’t help but soften and betray his anger with a grin at the mental image. It was a little funny, he had to admit, picturing himself rolling down the ramp with a mic in one hand, steering with the other as he yelled that not only did his opponent not have the _balls_ to wrestle a cripple, but he would beat the tar out of them with the hand currently holding his microphone anyway.

“As much as we both seemed to like that proposition, I’m afraid we still can’t make that happen.” Hunter turned the chair backward, putting a leg on either side and sitting to face Seth still. “But I promise it’ll get better soon - the pain, the feeling of loss, everything. Something like this happened to me back in ‘98 right after I won the Intercontinental title and I was devastated, believe me.”

Seth nodded, vaguely remembering watching Raw and hearing that on TV despite having happened seventeen years ago. “How’d you get through it? Were -” Seth cleared his throat, giving himself a moment to gather his thoughts - “were you worried that people would forget about you while you were gone?”

To Seth’s surprise, Hunter nodded. “Absolutely. I mean, I was pretty well-established by that point, but I sure as _hell_ didn’t want to be seen as a transitional champ, y’know?” Seth nodded back. “This is only your first title, though, so I get that you feel that way right now. I’d held a couple of titles before that.”

The two of them looked at each other for a moment, letting the moment they had just shared sink in before Hunter cleared his throat loudly. “So… what can I do for you to make this as easy of a transition - sorry, bad choice of words there - for you as possible?”

“Well, uh…” Seth began, looking around the room, “I kinda wanted something to eat. Not sure when that was going to happen, but I could really use a decent-sized meal right now. Or a half-gallon protein shake.”

Hunter smiled. “I’ll get right on that for you, let the nurses in the hall know.” He stood up, pushing the chair back up against the wall. “Anything else?”

Turning red, Seth looked away before mumbling his actual request.

“Pardon?” Hunter asked, leaning closer.

“Will you hold me a little bit?” Seth nearly blurted out, startling the other man back with his suddenness. “I’m sorry, I’ve just been pretty alone ever since they prepped me for surgery, and my parents won’t be able to fly out until tomorrow and everyone else is on tour and -”

Hunter just replied and nudged Seth’s upper arm with a hand. “Scoot over if you’re going to let me in,” he told Seth simply, as if it was a normal everyday occurrence to be embraced by your boss while sitting in a hospital bed of all places. Still, Seth did as he asked, shifting his weight slightly so not as to bump his bad leg on the rail guards. Hunter slid in almost immediately.

“Now,” Hunter spoke up, throwing an arm around Seth’s shoulders and, oh God, was he being pulled into Hunter’s lap? “If I find out that anyone whose checks I sign finds out about this, I can’t promise that you won’t wind back up in here with the other leg busted.” Seth was pretty sure he was half-joking, given the man’s serious tone but soft smile.

“I won’t tell a soul,” Seth promised, unable to stop himself from putting his head on Hunter’s shoulder to use as a pillow. “I just needed a little bit of this, and then I’ll be good to go.”

“I’m sure you will be,” Hunter concurred, making a _hmm_ noise. “The flight here was ridiculous. Layover after layover. I keep telling Stephanie that we need to just tell Vince that we need the private plane, but she insists on flying first-class on normal flights.” He looked down at Seth, smiling. “Try as I might, I’ll never understand that woman. I love her, but she tires me out.”

“You can take a quick nap,” Seth offered. “I’ll stay awake and wake you up if I hear your phone go off.”

“That’d be awesome,” Hunter admitted, his eyes already closing and putting his head back again the bed’s headboard. “This is why I picked you, Seth. You’re doing a great job, kid.”

Seth felt his chest swell with pride even though he’d heard that compliment before. “Thanks, Hunter,” he replied, closing his own eyes. He could afford to do that. After all, he was all hyped up after surgery and the anesthesia had all but worn completely away. Resting his eyes couldn’t hurt…

* * *

Stephanie McMahon-Helmsley prided herself on knowing what everyone important to her and her job was doing at any given moment in time, so the fact that her colleague and _husband_ was not answering his phone or responding to texts was really starting to piss her off. Just because he went to go see Seth did not mean that “bro time” or whatever the hell was keeping him superseded the duties of being the Chief Operational Officer of the WWE. She rounded the corner of the ward hallway, heels clicking forcefully against the linoleum as she blazed a path directly toward Seth’s private recovery room. _Just wait until I get in there,_ she warned no one in particular in her head. _Just you wait._

She opened the door slowly, trying to keep herself composed as Stephanie figured that she was going to be interrupting a conversation anyway and she might as well start out polite. However, what she expected from the two men inside the room and what met her eyes once she was inside were two completely different animals.

Both her husband and Seth were lying on the raised hospital bed, Seth’s head on Hunter’s shoulder and Hunter’s on top of Seth’s. It looked like Hunter’s arm was curled around Seth’s shoulders as well, assuming that that was where the other one was placed since one of Hunter’s hands was holding Seth’s chest, wide palm against his pectorals. To both of the sleeping beauties’ credits, neither of them had managed to disturb Seth’s hurt leg, having it askew to the side while Hunter trapped Seth’s bare foot between his two black shiny shoes. The two of them made a bizarre picture of serenity.

“Oh,” Stephanie remarked in a low voice, her face curling up into a devilish little smile as she took her phone out and went to use its camera, “this is _much_ better than chewing you out, babe.”

**Author's Note:**

> Title inspired by ["In Your Arms" by Nico and Vinz](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=l3MWQ1PaJgk).


End file.
